


Holding On and Letting Go

by themoonandotherslikeit



Series: The Hand That Reaches for God [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Apocalypse, Child Abuse, Death, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Horror, Love, M/M, Mutants, Nuclear, PTSD, Post Apocalypse, Rape, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, Zombie, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandotherslikeit/pseuds/themoonandotherslikeit
Summary: Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do-- be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.
Relationships: CastielxMeg, Dean Winchester X Lisa, Dean Winchester x OFC, Sam Winchester x OFC
Series: The Hand That Reaches for God [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873996
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Yes, I have burned to smoke and ash for the ones I have loved. I have been devoured, slowly, then spat back out. And probability suggests you are likely to ruin me too. But here, have my heart. Take it. I'd like you to." - Beau Taplin

**-3 Years After-**

It was Christmas. At least it _would_ be Christmas, if they celebrated shit like that anymore. 

Emerson was crouched on the roof, her gun resting on her knee as she kept watch. The world was blanketed in a soft, pink snow. She kept expecting the rain to go back to normal, but sometimes it still came out bubblegum pink. It gave the world some kind of awful candy land feel that made her nauseous. The sun was setting in the distance, kissing the horizon, creating a warm glow across the frozen landscape in front of her. 

She needed time to think, but there was never enough time. Not really. It never got any easier, no matter how much she thought it would. She half expected the pain to fade over time, but her pain was chronic and counting the days wasn’t helping. 

It was fucking cold out, and the wind whistled through the trees and bit at her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. She yearned for the nostalgia that she couldn’t bring herself to feel. She closed her eyes and let her cheeks sting and tears bite at her eyes. She used to feel like snow was fresh, a sign of innocence and rebirth-- but now she wasn’t so sure. That felt too hopeful, and if she was being honest, there wasn’t a lot of hope left to go around. 

The town was quiet, just like it had been, but she knew better than to let her guard down for even a second. Plus, she was already itching to leave and move on. She didn’t trust staying put. The only thing that she could count on was that things changed, and standing still when the rest of the world was spinning and shifting around her was a really fast way to get dizzy and fall down. 

She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, chopped hair to shake some fallen snow out of it. Her eyes shifted to a frozen bird's nest that was tucked in the gutter of the roof, the blue speckled eggs just broken shells barely poking out of the snow. All of the birds flew South for winter. Without feathers they wouldn’t survive a night in the below zero temperatures. She just wished the Rogue’s would do the same. The cold didn’t seem to bother them, their blue lips still biting mindlessly. It sort of made sense, you couldn’t really _kill_ something that was already dead. 

She should go back. It was time. She had been out in the cold long enough, and she knew that he would be worried. What a turn of events, that _Dean_ had become the worrier of the two of them. It was almost laughable. If she felt like laughing. She didn’t. She felt like screaming, punching something, blowing the head off of a stray Rogue. Emerson had violence within her, pulsing through her veins the same way her blood did. It was infecting her, eating her alive. 

“Em?” 

Sam hoisted himself onto the roof and settled next to her. “You’ve been gone for a while, you doing okay?” 

“I’m great,” she said, staring off into the distance. Why couldn’t they just give her some space? 

“Dean was just…”

“I know,” she said with a tight jaw. “I know, Sam.” 

“We’re all having a tough time, Em. Cut him a break.” 

“I just can’t fake it all the time, you know?” 

He let out a sigh next to her, and she glanced at him in time to see him nod, just barely. “Yeah, I do.” 

They were one in the same, Emerson and Sam. They never had much in common growing up, but they always had one thing, and it was the biggest thing. 

They loved Ophelia. 

“I miss her, Sam.” 

The tear that rolled down his cheek glowed orange in the sunset. “So do I.” 

Emerson scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to do this without her.” 

“Me neither.” He forced a sad smile and wrapped an arm around her. “But I think we have to. For each other and for Dean. He doesn’t deserve this. He loves you.” 

It was sort of incredible how fast things changed. 

She pressed her palm to her chest, rubbing the space above her broken heart. “I don’t know if that’s enough. It wasn’t enough for Phel.” 

“You aren’t the only one that misses her.”

“I wasn’t trying to say I was.” 

“Sometimes you’re just so selfish, Emerson. All you care about is you.” When he spoke, he barely sounded like Sam. 

“Dean?” 

Sam’s face was turned, looking down at her, and she recoiled instantly. She attempted to pull away from him, but his fingers were wrapped tightly around her wrist. Skin seemed to slosh off his face, exposing his teeth and muscle underneath. Bloody drool fell from his open maw as he tilted his head to the side. “So selfish,” he hissed, more liquid falling from his mouth. 

Emerson thought she was going to throw up. She pulled back from him, trying to yank her arm, but his grip was absolute. She cried out in pain, wincing as her skin gripped under his fingers. She pulled again, desperate to get away from him, completely degloving her hand. She stared at her own fleshless fingers and began to scream. 

"Em, hey, wake up," Dean said, nudging her awake. She was sobbing in her sleep again, screaming. It was a nightly occurrence. 

She reached for him, allowing his arms to snake around her and pull her closer. That was her safe place, in his arms. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d always felt that way. “Dean?” She squeaked, her voice completely raw from crying. 

“Hey, I’ve got you.” 

And she knew that he did. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” She sat up, the RV showing up as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her feet touched the floor. She was still in her boots. Sometimes she felt like she lost track of what her toes actually looked like. 

Dean sat up behind her and kissed her bare shoulder, and she stiffened. “Talk to me,” he insisted, his voice soft against her skin as he kissed her again. 

“I hate this.” 

“This?” 

“I hate that this is the world that we’re in. I hate that this is how we had to start… I hate…”

“You can say it.” 

“No I can’t,” Emerson huffed quietly. “Not yet. Not now.” She turned toward him, examining his tired face in the darkness. 

The time had aged him. The young man she fell in love with was different. His jaw was rough, and his nose was littered with a thousand freckles. His hair was shaggy, in need of a cut, and unkempt. She reached forward and wiped some dirt off his cheekbone with her thumb. She wanted to be the woman that he needed. She wanted to be the woman that _she_ needed, but she couldn’t. She was barely functioning. 

“Can we just… be together?” She asked, her voice a little desperate. 

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, and he pulled her to him, and he kissed her. He pulled her face to his and as their lips brushed, Emerson felt her heart crack a bit. She pulled him closer, pressing herself closer, as if she was trying to blend into him and disappear completely. 

**-8 Years Before-**

“Em?” Pheli asked as she bursted into their bedroom. 

Emerson pulled her quilt up over her naked chest, her eyes still heavy from sleep. She sat up quickly, perfectly aware that she was completely alone. She looked around for a note, for _anything_ to tell her what happened. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Maybe he didn’t abandon her after they had sex… after she… She felt sick to her stomach. 

“What’s going on?” Her sister asked, her eyes scanning the scene. “Did you? _Oh my god._ ” 

Emerson’s eyes stung as she realized, pretty damn quickly, what happened. If she had any question about Dean Winchester, it was answered in the cold space next to her. She woke up alone, when she went to bed next to another person. She thought they would be something. She thought they already were. 

She was so fucking stupid. 

“I just fell asleep after my shower.” 

“You expect me to believe that?” Ophelia asked, crossing her arms, challenging her. 

Emerson wasn’t in the mood. She was too tired. She was too hurt. “Yes,” she whispered desperately. “I do.” 

Pheli’s expression softened, like it always did, and she gathered her sisters clothing up in her arms and walked them to her, handing them over. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” She asked as she sat next to Emerson on her bed. 

She sucked in her breath, the sting of her tears pinging in her chest like electricity. Her eyes welled up, and her voice cracked as she barely managed, “no.” She pulled her shirt over her head and allowed her sister to pull her into a hug, and Emerson cried. 

“Boys suck,” Phel said insistently. “I’m going to kick his ass.” 

Usually Ophelia knew the right thing to say, the perfect thing, but this time her words just melted into Emerson’s hair, into nothingness. 

Dean left her. After he said all the right things, after he stripped her down physically _and_ emotionally. What a bastard. 

“Don’t bother,” Emerson said, her voice so much more broken than she wanted to allow out. “He was leaving, he was always going to leave.”

She was in love with him. She probably had always been in love with him, and in that moment it felt like the biggest mistake she had ever made. Love begets pain, emptiness. 

“But this…”

“I will always have you,” Em said, interrupting her sister. “You and me, right?”

“Always. Let’s order take out and spend the whole day in bed.”

Emerson smiled, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Phel.”

“Probably die.” 

“Probably,” she agreed. 

**-3 Years After-**

Sex had this amazing way of wiping away pain like a magic eraser, like a numbing shot that made everything tingle-- Emerson never was able to shake off the pain completely, but when she was alone with Dean, sometimes she could push it to the back of her mind and tuck it into a dark shadow. Sometimes she could convince herself that it wasn’t real, even just for a moment. 

Snow was falling outside of the windows on the RV, quieting the world around them. “Where’s Sam?” She asked, her voice a soft whisper.

“He left a little bit ago, I think he just needs some space.”

“Hm.”

She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest and tried to look out the window, but it was fogged up from their breath. She drew a little heart in the fog, her chest squeezing. She wasn’t the person that drew hearts on windows, Pheli was, but the absence of her sister weighed so heavily on her that she felt she needed to fill the void herself. 

Dean sat up, wrapping an arm around her middle, and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “What's going on in that head of yours?” 

She put her arm on top of his and closed her eyes, willing the pain to bury itself back inside of her. “Mostly darkness.”

“Should I turn on a light?” He asked with a soft chuckle, just to remind her that he was joking, since apparently she wasn’t capable anymore. 

When everything happened, her first instinct was to push him away and recoil into herself. He wouldn’t let her, though. All they had was hope, and the moment that flame burned out, there would be nothing left. 

They were already on borrowed time, as far as Emerson was concerned. “Not safe,” she muttered to herself.

“I know.” He kissed her shoulder again, because there wasn’t much else he could do. 

Dean Winchester was strong. He was much stronger than she ever was, or could ever hope to be. “How long are we going to do this, Dean?” She asked, squeezing his arm tightly.

“As long as we have to.”

He didn’t have to say it out loud, but she still heard it in his voice, his voice echoing in her mind. _Until we die._

And she cried, because she didn’t know what else to do. 

**-106 Days After-**

_Bang!_

The realization hit Emerson like a car wreck, like a ton of bricks, like when she was ten and she tripped down the stairs and cracked her front tooth. “Was that…”

“A gunshot,” Dean said, finishing her sentence. His green eyes had snapped out of that wrecked look they had a moment before, and were now the eyes of a soldier. “Get dressed.” 

Emerson felt sick, like she could throw up, like her heart was ripped right out of her chest but she somehow wasn’t dead. 

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, racing, running and spinning out of her grasp. She couldn’t hold on to anything, but Dean still reached out for her, like he always had and he always would. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and pulled her up. She got dressed hurriedly, sloppily, and with too much difficulty. Dean helped her zip the back of her dress and slide into her shoes. They grasped hands and began to run toward the sound. 

_Bang!_

Another shot rang out in the air, cutting through the trees, the silence, their skin and bones. Somewhere, discarded on the ground, was Dean’s ipod that still played a quiet song of a different life, a life that they only got to enjoy for a single taste. As they ran still, they ran further and further away from the life they almost had, and as they ran to a life that was destined to be full of pain and deep, profound loneliness. 

Because, if Dean Winchester knew anything, he knew that the sound of a gun firing never ended well. There was no happy ending for them, they knew it the moment the bomb went off and turned their lives upside down, and they were reminded once more when the bullet spun, leaving the barrel of the gun. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.
> 
> The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do-- be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.” - Richard Siken

**-3 Years after-**

The morning came like it usually did, too fast and unnerving. Usually Emerson woke up from the sun bleeding through the blinds, boards, or whatever they had covering the windows and shielding them from the outside. They had yet to find anything to keep the blazing rays from breaking through, even in thin slivers. But that morning, she woke up from Sam bursting through the door. He was breathing heavy, and holding up the old CB radio that was crackling with static, like it always was.

“Sammy?” Dean asked groggily. 

“They were talking,” Sam said breathlessly. 

“What?” Emerson sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“I heard voices. They’re far away, and it wasn’t a strong connection… but they said they have a community. They called it safe.”

The familiar feeling of hope dying shattered within Emerson’s chest. “No such thing.”

“Em,” Dean whispered, his face softening at the pained sound of her voice. 

She waved him off dismissively and tossed the blanket off of her. She bent down and slid into her boots. 

“There may be,” Sam said, desperation in his voice. “We have to try, don’t we?”

“We don’t have to do anything but survive, Sam,” Emerson snapped, tightening the laces on her boots. She couldn’t look up at him, couldn’t risk those puppy dog eyes tugging at her heart strings. 

“But what if she…” 

Emerson’s face snapped up to his then, and she shook her head. “No. I can’t.” 

“What did they say, Sammy?” Dean asked, placing a hand on his brother's chest, inserting his arm between them. 

“It was jumbled, but I know they’re in California. They said they’d be broadcasting at the same time every day. If we don’t try, then we will be fucked, Dean. I know we will. We will eventually run out of ammo… we will run out of resources and then what do we have? Plus, it’ll be warmer in California.” 

Sam was right. They knew that, but Emerson knew that if she allowed herself to have even the smallest twinge of hope that she wouldn’t be able to survive losing it. The reality of the situation, though, was that they were running out of options. Her eyes stung, and she bit down on her tongue in an attempt to drive the pain deep inside of her soul somewhere more manageable. She sucked in her breath and met Dean’s eyes.

He was her bandage, her tourniquet. He was the only thing keeping her standing upright, breathing, _talking_. “Whatever you think is best,” she said, defeated. 

Dean’s eyes didn’t leave hers. His iris’ were a deep green, beautiful, dizzying, and unbelievably calming. They were home. “Let’s pack up and head out. The generator died in the night, anway, so we can’t stay here. Sammy, you can check the radio every day at that time, and as long as they’re still broadcasting, we will keep heading in that direction. It’ll be a long trip, so we should probably get going.” 

That was that. Dean’s words were law. 

Emerson wasn’t sure exactly when she started letting a man make her decisions for her, but it was easier than owning her own choices and having to face the pain and responsibility of everything she loved bleeding out at her feet. 

**-2 Years Before-**

Churches always made Emerson uncomfortable. There was something about organized religion that just made her nauseous. The man standing up in front of dozens of people, behind him an image of a man hanging and dying on a cross. It made her nervous. It felt like a way to gain control. 

But she found herself standing between the pews, staring up at a stained glass cross, and an altar littered with burning, melted candles. 

Dean was rushed into surgery before she had arrived. He had been stabilized during his deployment and now the surgeons had to undo what had been done to him. She had no answers. She wasn’t his family, and she wasn’t his girlfriend. It didn’t matter what soft words were exchanged between them on the roof of her house. None of it fucking mattered. She rubbed her breastbone with the heel of her palm, and she let out a pained gasp, as if for the first time she realized that she wasn’t the one on the table. She was alive. She was awake. 

She felt helpless and that wasn’t something she was comfortable with. 

She walked to the altar and picked up the matchbox. She knew that each lit candle was a prayer. She wondered if the prayer was answered when the candle burned down, or if that meant that they were abandoned. Or if it meant anything at all. 

Emerson Maklen didn’t pray. She wasn’t sure she even knew how. She tried a few times when she was a little girl. Praying for her father to return. For her mother to stop crying. But it never felt natural, it always felt wrong. 

She pulled a match out of the box and struck it, a small orange flame bursting to life at the tip of her fingers. She stared at the dancing flame, looking for the answers to the questions she was too afraid to ask. 

She couldn’t stop playing out her last conversation with Dean. He stood there, handsome and hurtful on her doorstep, like no time had passed. He stood there like the last time they saw each other they hadn’t made love. As if he hadn’t slipped out her window into the darkness without saying goodbye. 

She was so angry with him. She didn’t want to see him again, but when she got the call that he was hurt and was being flown home she didn’t hesitate. She felt so fucking stupid. She felt embarrassed. She felt selfish and hurt. And she loved him so much that there weren’t even words to describe it. 

She reached forward and lit the candle for Dean. She wasn’t sure if he believed in God, they’d never talked about it, but it didn’t seem like it could hurt. They needed all the help they could get. She put out the match and lowered herself to her knees and clasped her hands. 

“I’m going to give this a go, because I’m desperate.” Her voice shook and trembled. _Ask and you shall receive_. She let out a breath to steady herself. “I don’t know if you’re listening, or if you’re even out there, but if you are what everyone says you are, almighty, forgiving, the embodiment of love… then please help him. Help Dean. I’ll give anything.” 

Her voice cracked in a sob, and she squeezed her hands together tighter. 

She remembered reading a story online about a man who promised God that he would walk all the way to Israel if his child was healed. When her cancer dissipated, he walked his happy ass to Israel. 

She would cover oceans if it meant saving Dean. Maybe she didn’t have to say it out loud, though, for God to get that. If he was all knowing, anyway. 

“Don’t let him die… I know I’ve been mean to him. I’ve been unfair, but God I need another chance. I can’t let him die thinking I hate him. If he lives then I’ll be honest with him. I love him, and I will love him as long as I live. I know that, because I’ve already loved him for as long as I can remember. I can’t… I can’t lose him.” 

**-3 Years after-**

They’d been walking for hours, checking periodically for vehicles that still had gas, but they knew it wasn’t likely at this point. Everything had been raided long ago. Emerson was never an athletic woman. She had never been strong or fast, but as time had passed she had developed an endurance. She didn’t get tired walking all day, not like she had at first. Her senses were keen, her eyes always scanning for danger, for Rogues. 

The sky had gotten progressively darker the longer they walked. The clouds were dark and heavy with rain. The snow from the day before had melted as they walked, the earth heating and shifting as they climbed out of the mountains and back down to more solid ground. Lightning lit up the clouds, deep red and brilliant, causing Emerson’s mouth to go dry. They needed to find shelter, and they needed to do it fast. “Dean,” she said, glancing at him.

He didn’t look back at her, because his eyes were already scanning for a place to stay. He picked up speed, jogging down the main road of the small town they had just entered. “There!” Dean shouted, as the road slanted downward, exposing a large, towering structure that cooled Emerson’s blood the moment she saw it. 

The cathedral broke through the dark, black clouds. Its spires twisting and reaching for the sky. There was no sun to brighten the stained glass, or what was left from the broken pieces, leaving shards of Jesus staring down at Emerson, pious and unforgiving. The sky shook with an angry clap of thunder, and she considered that this could possibly be the end. Maybe the sky would open up, and forcibly baptize her in a vat of acid. Afterall, it was likely the only true way to erase her sins. 

She shook off the chill that the massive stone church left as she stared up at its grandeur. Emerson wasn’t sure what was causing her unease, because she knew that God wasn’t in there-- if he ever was in the first place. She knew that now he definitely wasn’t listening. 

She hadn’t been inside of a church since she begged for the life of her mother. She assumed that each person was only granted _one_ miracle, and she used hers on Dean. Her eyes stung as they approached the massive wooden doors. 

Sam pressed his palm to the door. “Sanctuary.” 

Her eyes flickered to him. She didn’t agree. 

Dean’s hand pressed against her lower back. “You good?”

“Peachy.” 

He grunted in response. 

She never told him that he was her miracle.

Her fingers twitched at her sides as she wondered if she should’ve saved it for Ophelia. She wondered if Sam used his miracle for Dean, too. 

Sam pushed the cathedral doors open wide, as she and Dean prepared their guns for anything that may jump out of the shadows. Their preparedness rarely helped them, though. 

The church was a large, open room with dozens of pews lined up facing a large altar at the front, directly in front of a large, broken stained glass window. Even from the shattered pieces, Emerson could tell that the glass was once something beautiful. The way it was now, though, left her feeling empty, haunted. It was like whatever once resided in the church - faith, hope, love - had all been burned away to nothingness. There was nothing hopeful left in the premises. Not anymore. 

The altar was lined with burned down candles, and Emerson wrapped her arms around herself as the memory of lowering herself to her knees to beg for Dean’s life probed her mind. She closed her eyes and willed the memories to leave her. 

She wasn’t that girl anymore, not by a long shot. She wasn’t sure she could even pick herself out of a line up anymore. She had been avoiding her reflection. She couldn’t face her own eyes. 

She jumped a bit as two arms snaked around her from behind, embracing her warmly. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Dean asked. His lips were pressed against the base of her neck, the warmth of his whisper making the hair on the back of her neck rise. 

“Faith.”

“Find some?”

“Not exactly.” She kept her eyes closed and just revealed in the warmth of his body against hers for as long as she could. “I was just wondering how it’s possible that there’s a god when all of this has happened. Look at the world, Dean. It’s horrible. How can god allow that? How can people still have faith after that?” 

“I don’t know, baby.” He pressed his lips to her hair. His voice was sad. She was sad. It was heavy in the air. “I’m going to secure the perimeter.” His arms dropped, letting her go, leaving her feeling hollow and cold. 

The rain started in a steady downpour, the sound of a thousand droplets falling down with the sound of shattered glass against a stone roof. The Winchester’s. Checked out the remainder of the church to make sure there were no threats, and Emerson just stared at the hole in the glass window. 

Deep red rain fell through the broken glass, dripping down like fresh blood in sizzling heat as it landed on the ground inside of the church. Emerson resisted the urge to reach out and touch the water, to feel the pain against her arms, to feel _something_. 

“We’re good,” Sam said as the boys entered the church again. “I think I’m going to get some shut eye.” He settled into a back pew and closed his eyes, laying back. He did that sometimes. It seemed like he wanted to give them some space. 

Sometimes even space can be just as suffocating. 

She settled into a pew in the front. She pulled her knees up to her chest and continued to watch the rain. 

“Can I sit?” Dean asked cautiously. 

He was walking on eggshells with her lately. Every move felt calculated and anxious. Every move closer was a step further away from her. “Sure.” 

He sat next to her and took her feet and placed them into his lap. He rubbed her calves gently. “I know things are shitty.” 

“You can say that again,” she said with a snort. 

He chuckled a bit at that, but it sounded strained. She looked up to him. His face was twisted, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes full of pain. She winced instinctively. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to love someone so broken. 

She sucked in her breath and scooted closer to him so she sat in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dean,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. 

“Emerson,” he whispered back, almost cheekily. Leave it to Dean Winchester to make light of any situation. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this, and I… the way that I am now, it’s not because I don’t love you. You know that, right?” 

“Emerson Maklen, you’re difficult. I know that. I’ve always known that.” He took her face in his hands and stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “But I’ve never wondered if you love me. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you’d _let_ yourself love me, but never if you did.” 

She let out a soft laugh, willing the tears to stay inside of her where they fucking belong, but she couldn’t. They’d been coming constantly for so long now. “I want to be okay, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” 

“I get it, Em. I’ve been this broken thing before. I’ve been a bird with clipped wings.” Dean held her face with the strength of someone who was holding up the entire world, and the gentleness of someone cradling a newborn. “My love doesn’t have contingencies. You don’t have to be fine for me to love you.” 

Sometimes Emerson wondered how things would be different if the world hadn’t erupted into flames. She wondered if she would still be with Dean. If she would’ve been brave enough to admit that she loved him, that she always had loved him. She’d spent the majority of her life choking it down, convincing herself that he was wrong for her, and then allowing him to prove her right. 

Fear was a thing with teeth so razor sharp that one nick can start a bleeding that’s impossible to stop. She was paralyzed for years. The endless _what if’s_ making her dizzy. She was terrified of what it meant to fall in love, because more than anything, it meant adding another person to her and Ophelia’s tight partnership. It meant a wedge between the sisters, and every bit of outside pressure caused another crack. There were only so many ways that something can break before it can never be repaired. 

That possibility always felt so far off, so distant, like a nightmare.

_“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Phel.”_

_“Probably die.”_

Dean said that she didn’t have to be fine for him to love her. 

She kissed him with every bit of life she had left, because he deserved it. He deserved something better. Someone more. 

She wondered how long it would last. She could pretend to be fine. She was good at it. She’d been doing it for years, after all. But eventually the mask would fade, just like everything did, and she had to ask herself if he would still love her if he knew. 

**-106 Days After-**

For the third time in her life, Emerson Maklen prayed. She prayed to a god that she wasn’t sure existed to beg that her sister was okay, that Sam was okay. They were always supposed to die together, on the same day. She prayed today wasn’t that day. 

They were going to grow old and live in a big house together, since they’d obviously outlived the Winchester’s. She always teased Pheli for her idealistic outlook, but as she ran toward the sound of a gun firing she needed it more than she ever thought she would. 

She pressed her palm to her chest and felt her heart pounding, racing under her skin. Part of her was sure if her sister was dead that she would know. She would feel it. Ophelia was an extension of herself so she would _know_. 

Wouldn’t she?


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.
> 
> The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do-- be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.” - Nikita Gill

**-8 Years Before-**

“Happy birthday dear  _ OpheliaandEmersonnnnn  _ happy birthday to  _ you! _ ” 

Opheli leaned down and blew out the candles on their cake. That was always her job, and Emerson didn’t care, not really. She wasn’t the kind that made wishes on candles or stars. She just hoped that Pheli wished enough for both of them. 

Sam invaded their space and wrapped his arms around Pheli’s waist and placed a big kiss on her cheek. “Happy birthday, baby!” 

“Aw! He’s sweet. Isn’t he sweet?” 

“The sweetest,” Em said tightly. She walked to the table to help her mom cut the cake, since it was pretty clear that her sister wasn’t going to. 

“Are you having fun, honey?” Jana asked, kissing her daughter’s temple. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom.” 

“You can sit down. I can get it,” she insisted. “Let your mother take care of you on your birthday.” 

“She’s right, you know.” 

Emerson would recognize that voice anywhere.  _ Dean.  _ She just couldn’t get rid of him, could she? “What’re you doing here?” 

“It’s a party,” Dean said with a shrug. 

“I know. It’s my party.” She wasn’t sure if she even believed that. Her eyes met his green ones and a chill ran down her spine. He had this way of getting under her skin that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Okay.” 

She avoided the quirked eyebrow and smirk of her mother and followed Dean through her house to the front door. They pushed through and walked down the sidewalk. It was awkward at first, quiet. She questioned immediately why she went with him. What the fuck was she thinking? She ditched her own birthday party for Dean Winchester. Pheli was going to give her so much shit for this. 

They followed the sidewalk to the pier and down to the water. There was something about the ocean that always had a draw for Emerson. It didn’t matter how long she lived near it, she always felt a lot calmer when she could smell the salt. The air was cold, and the sand was hard and frozen. The whistle of the wind over the sea was haunting, like a set of old wind chimes. She stopped walking and turned to him. She worried if they kept walking they would reach the end of the earth and fall off the edge. “Why did you ask me out here, Dean?” 

Dean's hands were in his pockets, and he looked out to the sea, dark and churning. He turned to glance at her and dug in the pocket of his coat and held out his fist. “I got you something.” 

She raised an eyebrow curiously. “Why?”

“It’s your  _ birthday.  _ That’s what people do.” 

_ Right.  _

Emerson held out her hand for him and he dropped something into it. She pulled her hand back and stared at the necklace resting in her palm. “You got me jewelry.” 

“Don’t make it weird.” 

“It is weird,” she said with a snort before holding it up. It was a dainty, gold chain with a small golden bear on it. She ran her finger along the hunched back of the bear and frowned. “What is…” 

“Bears are supposed to symbolize strength. I just… You’re strong, Em. Sometimes I feel like you forget that.” 

She curled her fingers around the necklace, her chest tugging herself towards him a bit, and she swallowed hard. How was it that this man knew her so deeply? He seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, and the way to say it that made all of the difference. They were toeing a line. He was too old for her, and she had no interest in falling in love, but yet. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” He turned away from her, looking back out. “I don’t think you get enough attention. Everyone is always focused on Ophelia. She’s great, don’t get me wrong, it’s just… you’re great, too. Don’t think anyone tells you enough.” 

“I don’t need that much validation.” 

“Maybe not, but I’m still gonna tell you.”

And he did. 

**-3 Years after-**

Dean Winchester spent a lot of time looking at Emerson Maklen, especially after everything that happened. It felt like he had to walk on eggshells with her and Sammy. Sometimes it was too damn much, but he had to pick his battles. He had to appreciate what he had left. 

It was her birthday, and he wanted to do something special for her, but he knew better. She wouldn’t want to celebrate without Pheli, and he couldn’t blame her for that. 

Out of all of the ways he thought they would end up, this wasn’t even an option. Not by a long shot. She was trying, and he could appreciate that. They all were, but sometimes trying wasn’t enough. He could hear her crying at night even though she tried to hide it, and it broke him. There was nothing worse than seeing the person he loved most in the world hurt so deeply. He felt like no matter how close he got to her, he would never be close enough to pull her out of the darkness. 

He’d been thinking about his deployment a lot lately. The heat of the desert was on his mind. The sweat and the sand. The blood and bombs. It felt like a different life, like some kind of god awful dream. That’s how The After felt. That's what they’d dubbed the apocalypse. It had a sort of a ring to it, well it sounded better than ‘the end of the fucking world’, even though that was pretty accurate. 

He spent so much of his deployment thinking about Emerson. He thought about her and all of the letters she probably hadn’t opened. He thought about how he would win her back. He thought about a lot of things. One night he laid on his back in a truck bed as Charlie drove, yammering on about something, but his eyes didn’t leave the sky. He could say a lot about Afganistan, but fuck, the sky was clear. He could see a million stars, but really all he saw was Emerson. 

All he ever saw was Emerson. 

**-2 Years before-**

“Alright, men,” Dean began, shifting uncomfortably in his Civ’s. 

Charlie cleared her throat and shot him daggers at  _ men _ . 

“Alright, gang?” 

She nodded in approval, and Dean shook his head with a snort. Charlie reminded him of  _ her  _ sometimes. She was so fucking strong willed that it gave him a headache. He missed her more than he could ever imagine. If Dean Winchester could list his biggest mistakes on a sheet of paper, it would just have the date that he crawled out of Emerson Maklen’s window, leaving her naked and alone, in big Roman numerals. What the fuck was he thinking?

Well, he  _ knew  _ exactly what he was thinking. He wasn’t good enough. 

“Alright,  _ gang _ . We have the evening free. Novak did us a solid, so don’t fuck it up. Ya hear me? Don’t go getting any locals pregnant, or getting too shitfaced that you can’t report in the morning. He will have my ass, and I frankly like my ass.” 

The men snickered in response. Such fucking children. Dean shook his head, but couldn’t help but smile. He needed this as badly as they did. 

They all climbed into the Humvee to head toward the closest town, their pockets full of bills and big painted smiles. Benny pulled out his guitar on his knee and started to strum as Dean drove. He glanced back at his friend in the rear view mirror. “Say you're leavin' on a seven thirty train and that you're headin' out to Hollywood. Girl, you been givin' me that line so many times it kinda gets like feelin' bad looks good, yeah.”

They howled in response, like wolves at the moon, all leaning into Charlie. She shook her head and punched Garth in the shoulder in response. She was nobody’s  _ baby _ , but the men knew that. They loved her and respected her, probably more than they respected Dean. He was fine with that. 

“Yeah, you drive me crazy, crazy, crazy for you baby…” They sang out in unison, and Dean laughed, joining in, because why not? Sammy wasn’t there. The people in the back of the humvee were his family. They were branded by war, by blood, dirt, sweat, and fucking tears. No one talked about how Garth cried at night, how Benny stayed up late to write letters to his niece, or how Dean scribed letters to a girl that would never write him back. He half expected to get a package of returned mail, but they never came. 

He rubbed the place above the inside pocket of his jacket where Ophelia’s letter was zipped up tightly inside. He received it on his last day of Basic. He had read it about a thousand times, and the edges were worn and soft. He had to assume that it meant that Emerson had kept his letter. She hadn’t trashed it, at least. 

_ Em didn’t share with me the letter you sent to her, and I think it’s because she’s scared. _

_ Scared.  _ He could’ve laughed, but it all hurt way too damn much. He assumed, since Ophelia Maklen was vouching for him that she didn’t know what he did. If she did, she would be marching right into the shit to punch him in the teeth. He deserved it. 

He just hoped Emerson did think that it was all about sex. It wasn’t. He didn’t plan on going there and sleeping with her. It was just a happy accident. 

“You good?” Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow. He sat in the passenger seat, and he was staring at Dean. “You’re gripping the steering wheel really tight.” 

Dean loosened his grip, his fingers white from the pressure. “Yeah, I’m good,” he responded with a grunt. 

They didn’t do the soft thing. They didn’t open up or hug, which was fine by him. He worried if he started that he’d never be able to stop. He hadn’t relaxed for a second since his deployment started. 

_ “Part of me thinks I’m gonna die out there.” _

_ “Well can you do me a favor, and I don’t know, not die?” _

_ “Aw, Em, your heart is showing.”  _

Things never quite went the way that he expected them to. If he knew that she would want him, he would’ve never enlisted. Fuck his father, what did John Winchester ever do to deserve a breath from Dean’s body? Emerson, on the other hand, deserved the world. 

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, or whatever. She most certainly deserved better than him. 

“You look like you’re going to hurl,” Kevin commented. 

“Christ, Tran, can you mind your own dick?” 

Kevin frowned, his body deflating, and Dean immediately felt guilty. Wasn’t the kids fault that he was so messed up. 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at Kevin. “Just thinking about what I left behind is all. Not much I can do about it now.” 

Kevin nodded quickly. “I understand that. I think about my mom all the time. I think about how proud she was. I don’t want to let her down.” 

“You won’t,” Dean assured him. 

“Whatever you’re worried about, Dean, it will work out.” 

“Oh yeah? You got some crystal ball I don’t know about?” 

Kevin snorted in response, shaking his head. “No. I just… I know, I guess. I don’t get the impression that you let things go easily.” 

He was on the nose about that one. “You’re quiet, Tran.”

“That means I am pretty observant.” 

“Apparently.” He turned back to the road, tapping his fingers to whatever song Benny was strumming. “Thanks, kid.” 

Kevin shrugged. “You do it for the guys all the time. It’s the least I can do.” 

“Hey, Tran?”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think that there are some things that can never be forgiven?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “I think we see shit in war all the time that can’t be forgiven.” 

“I meant more… personally.” 

“Ah,” Kevin nodded swiftly. “Whatever it is, Dean, an apology goes a long way.” 

“I did,” he grunted. “She didn’t write back.” 

“Hm. I’ll pray for you, buddy.”

“You really think that helps?” 

“Well,” Kevin began with an ornery smile. “Couldn’t hurt, right?” 

**-3 Years after-**

Today was a win, at least in Dean’s mind. They found an abandoned motel, which sort of felt a little pointless to call it that- everything was abandoned unless it was full of Rogues. The motel had a backup generator that hadn’t been on this whole time. It  _ worked _ , which meant lights and running water. The lobby even had some old DVD’s, which meant  _ movies.  _ Dean couldn’t remember the last time he watched a movie. Maybe he would get to celebrate Em’s birthday after all. 

Sam insisted on his own room, which didn’t bother Dean much at all, because he had plans for his room that didn’t include his brother’s wandering eyes. They agreed on joint rooms in case of trouble. They never could justify being too far apart. 

After digging around in the dusty kitchen of the motel, he managed to find some non-perishables. A few cans of ravioli, which was honestly really unappetizing, but if he was being honest, nothing was really appetizing anymore. He was most excited, though, about the single birthday candle he found. Combined with the lighter that he still carried in his pocket would allow for Emerson to make a birthday wish. It was the least she deserved. 

He gathered up armfuls of movies and opened the door to their room. The lights were off apart from the lamp between the two beds, and the shower was running. Heat rose up his neck at the thought of her naked behind the door. Even after all of the time, he was still completely dazzled by her. He didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. 

He dropped everything on the dust-covered dresser. “Em?” He opened the bathroom door slowly, allowing the anticipation to build in his gut. 

“Dean… don’t,” she murmured, gasping a bit from behind the shower curtain. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, walking to the shower without thinking. He pulled back the curtain to find her crumbled at the floor of the shower completely clothed. Her knees were pressed to her chest, her hair soaked and matted down against her face and neck. He wondered how long she had been there. “Em.” 

“I don’t need the pity, Dean. Just… give me a minute, okay?” 

“No,” he said quietly, his heart breaking for her. He climbed in the shower across from her, his legs going to either side of her, water rushing down his face and back. His eyes stung and his throat burned as he watched the strongest person he’d ever known crack like glass. 

“Damn it, just leave me  _ alone _ ,” she gasped, a sob escaping her lips. She buried her face in her hands, and he pulled her against his chest. She curled her hands into fists and pounded them half-heartedly onto his chest. “Leave me alone!” 

“No,” he whispered against her wet hair, allowing her to hit him over and over again until her arms fell between them. 

Pain knew no gender, race, age, status… In the end they were all the same. The thing that was ripping Emerson apart had come for him already. He’d lived in the trenches longer than he cared to admit. It was all darkness and dirt, like being buried alive. He was choking, drowning in it, but she pulled him out. So there was no way in Hell that he was going to let her be overcome by pain, not alone. 

“I love you. I’ve got you, Em.” 

“Things are so fucked up,” she sobbed, her broken voice cutting into him. He held her tighter, with stronger arms. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do. You still have Sam.” 

He winced at that. She’d never thrown Sam in his face before like that. It had always been a good thing that Sam was still with him. She was trying to hurt him, and she was right. He had no idea how she felt. How could he? 

“I just keep thinking about when we were twelve and Pheli wanted to do  _ another  _ princess birthday. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told her I didn’t want to share a birthday with her. I just wanted to go to the movies. I didn’t want to have a whole  _ thing  _ with crowns and dresses.” 

“Em, you can’t beat yourself up for something that happened over a decade ago…” 

“Yeah, Dean, I can. I didn’t appreciate her the way I should have. I should’ve never left her alone… then I wouldn’t be having  _ another  _ birthday without her. It’s not fucking fair! She should be here.” 

“You’re right,” he said. He held her arms and looked into her eyes. “It’s not fair. It’s fucked up. It’s  _ wrong _ , but just because Phel can’t be here doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t live, Em. I feel like I’m watching you die with every breath you take.” 

He thought about the pink candle on top of the can of ravioli on the dresser, and how the flame would never be lit. It felt unbelievably lonely. 

“It’s devastating having to watch someone that you love disappear and not be able to do anything to stop it, isn’t it?” She asked, coldly. Her fingers twisted in his shirt. “I was so fucking focused on you, Dean, that I wasn’t watching out for my sister. I’m trying so hard to not hate you for that, to not make this all for nothing… but sometimes it hurts so bad to look at you. So please leave me alone. You want to do something for me for my birthday? Just  _ go _ .” 

**-106 Days after-**

Everything was red. 

Sam was on his back, flat on the ground. Blood pooled from a wound on his shoulder. He had been shot. His face was pale, and he was blinking a lot, like he was trying to see something that wasn’t there. His long, pale fingers were stretched outward, reaching. He was muttering something that Dean couldn’t quite understand when they approached.  _ “Take care of Sammy.”  _ He had failed. “Hey, Sammy I’ve got you,” he said, crouching down immediately to take his brother in his arms. He put pressure on the wound, blood seeping through his fingers, flashes of bloody limbs in the dirt of Afghanistan edged its way into his vision. He willed it away. His past demons had no place in his present nightmare. “It ain’t that bad.” 

Some moments are small. The smile on Emerson’s face when he said her name, the way she mumbled in her sleep, the frequency that Ophelia ended up cuddled next to Emerson, leaving Sam alone in bed. Those moments were small breaths of bliss. 

Some moments were huge, astronomical, devastating,  _ ineffable _ . 

He had been so focused on his brother’s wound that he hadn’t even heard Emerson screaming, not until she fell on her knees next to Sam, shouting, wailing something unintelligible. 

All he could hear was the woosh of his blood pounding in his ears. The sound of his heartbeat, and the word  _ gone _ . 


End file.
